rhonen

molten eyes and a smile made for war

He doesn’t have a home, but he’s getting tired of living in the overly-busy common areas. There are just so many comings and goings, all the time; sometimes that’s great, giving him people to interact with, but the rest of the time it’s just plain annoying. But the chestnut stallion has heard rumors that the once-Kingdom of Taiga is habitable, but quiet. Habitable now, though it hadn’t been when the fae had been done tearing it to pieces. Still, he doesn’t need perfect; he just needs livable and quiet.

The trees are not as tall as he vaguely remembers they once were, nor are the pine needles underfoot as deep; but the new growth is still further along than any natural means could have produced, and the scent of the pine trees is…nice. He wanders along, trailing his nose through deep drifts of needles, snorting to dispel them in wide arcs just for the fun of it. And, true to the rumors, it’s quiet. His steps are almost the only sound, besides the natural ones of birds and small animals.

Almost. Faintly, there is the sound of hard breathing, and he is curious enough to head that direction. He wants to know who he might be sharing this space with…even if it’s mostly an empty not-Kingdom. If he doesn’t like the stranger, he can just avoid them in the future. A few more steps bring him around the trunk of one of the widest trees, and he finds a bay mare behind it, clearly pregnant and also clearly the source of the labored breathing, with tears drying on her cheeks.

He considers turning around and leaving, but instead he clears his throat and stares at the bay, strangely familiar, girl. Well now he’s been here too long, and he’s got to say something. “Uh, d’you live here?” His regular, brusque tone. A deep breath and he tries to force his voice to soften, because damn if the tears aren’t affecting him. He shifts uncomfortable and adds, “I’m Rhonen.”

rhonen

molten eyes and a smile made for war

He’s startled her, that much is clear, and her eyes flash open to meet his own, holding Rhonen in thrall as they stare at each other, but the quiet is broken by first his voice and then hers, and he flicks his chestnut ears forward to catch all of her words. She mentions it’s a long story and perks his interest, but he stays quiet, settling for a curious tilt of his head, and his silence is rewarded when she continues with her name, which plucks another of those strings of recognition.

While she is remembering whatever she is remembering, Rhonen is inspecting her vaguely familiar face with his intent gaze (despite the fact that she is trying her hardest not to look at him), trying to figure out what he has in common with this pregnant little girl. He doesn’t place anything though, so he is still frowning at her, irritated at his own lack of comprehension, when she suddenly repeats his name, and her head is suddenly lifted again, and he can see at once that she has found the connection he strained for.

Of course, what she ends up saying is not anything he was expecting, and for once the stallion is speechless, blinking at the stranger for several long moments before he experiences a memory too – hazy things, nothing clear, but he remembers Karaugh discussing what she would name their foal. Kolera had been an option for a filly, but since he had never met the child that had been the only time he had discussed it with Karaugh; she hadn’t been all that interested in Rhonen, and Rhonen hadn’t been interested in her for long. He’d been young, and moving on was easy when he wasn’t emotionally evolved.

Since Karaugh never came looking for him, he’d kind of assumed they didn’t have a child. Maybe she miscarried, or the foal was unfortunately stillborn. But apparently he was wrong, and all this time he had a daughter out there, living a life he can’t begin to imagine. “Shit,” he mumbles, but it’s not malicious, or directed at her. “I didn’t even know you existed.” He takes a more vivid interest now, in her rounded belly and in the tears. He steps closer to her, but he doesn’t touch her. They don’t know each other well enough for that.

“I think you’d better tell me that story.”